


What We Do For Love.

by towards



Series: discord drabbles [2]
Category: South Park
Genre: Addiction, Child Abuse, Courtroom Drama, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Mental Health Issues, Past Sexual Abuse, Recovery, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 18:55:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12941577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/towards/pseuds/towards
Summary: “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”His hand is on the bible and he wonders idly if it’ll burst into flame if he lies. Does the tremble of his fingers against the worn leather mark him as a liar, if the way his heart is hammering and the way he sweats will make the jury decide he’s untrustworthy.





	What We Do For Love.

**Author's Note:**

> Tbh Richard is absolutely slimy enough to blame everything he did on his mentally ill son.

“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”

His hand is on the bible and he wonders idly if it’ll burst into flame if he lies. Does the tremble of his fingers against the worn leather mark him as a liar, if the way his heart is hammering and the way he sweats will make the jury decide he’s untrustworthy.

( _Tweek, come now. There wasn’t enough in there to hurt you. No one will ever believe you. It’s safe. It’s good for you! All those voices you hear go away when you drink it. Now just drink your coffee, that’s it, would  we ever do anything to hurt you? )_

He shows up at court in a suit that doesn’t fit quite right with styled hair fighting the effects of gravity. Tweek doesn’t think he’s ever been so scared in his life, ever looked less like himself, but here he is, preparing to endure.

He picks at the skin of his fingers under the podium. It’s easy to answer Gerald’s questions. They’d gone over them time and time again, made it easy, his answers are careful and his voice is genuine. 

 _No_ , he did not consent to being introduced to the drug. _Yes_ , he worked for them from the time he was ten up until their arrest. No, he was not given breaks. Yes, he often slept in the coffee shop. Yes, he’d been threatened by his father’s associates. Yes, he’d been attacked by them. Yes, he’d been taken advantage of by one of them before. Yes, he’d told his father. No, he did not think his mother knew. Yes, he told them he wanted out.

No, they never listened to him.

It makes him feel dirty. The way the jury looks at him. Soft and doe-eyed, seeing him as _weak_  and _broken_  in a way he didn’t think was fair. 

It’s easy up until then. He knew. They’d practiced. Gerald gives him a reassuring smile as he returns to his seat and Tweek feels his whole body seize as the defense rises to his feet and approaches.

( He glances into the crowd, seeking _support_ , daring to hope – doesn’t see any of his friends except for Kyle. Looks back to the opposition. Feels something crack and solidify, acknowledgement that he’s _alone_. )

The man’s voice is sharp and mocking. His questions come hard and fast, and Tweek weathers them up until:

“Mr. Tweak, isn’t it true you were the one to purchase the so called ‘secret ingredient’.”

Tweek inhales sharply. Looks to Gerald, to the judge. The jury’s eyes feel less sympathetic. They remember earlier testimonies.

“Yes.”

“And _isn’t it true_  that you spent most of your time alone in the back room unsupervised?”

“Y-Yes.”

The lawyer turns to the jury. He waits for the next question, for what he’s getting at, but it doesn’t come. He just passes that look to the jury.

“But I was ten,” he finds himself saying. “I was _ten_. I– I was a _kid_. I didn’t know what it was –”

“Moving on.  Mr. Tweak, you’ve been diagnosed with schizotypal disorder. Are you aware of what that entails?”

His eyes go wide. “I– I?”

The jury isn’t looking at him kindly now. He feels it. Feels their judgement – Gerald shouts and objection but the judge allows it. _Answer the question, Mr Tweak._

 _“_ Y-Yes, I–”

“Incorrect interpretation of events, such as a feeling that something which is actually harmless or inoffensive has a direct personal meaning. Peculiar, eccentric or unusual thinking, beliefs or mannerisms. Suspicious or paranoid thoughts and constant doubts about the loyalty of others. And so, Mr Tweak, this matches the account that both of your parents gave you. You were a _difficult_  child.”

Gerald shouts again. _Objection! Leading!_ but the judge allows it.

“I– I, I – I was, I wasn’t,” he starts to say, finds his voice hitch. 

“I’m seeing a list of behavior issues. Getting into fights. Acting up in class. Mr Tweak, you were particularly defensive about big business coming in and taking over your father’s shop.”

“I – H- he wr-wrote that, we- we had…”

“And _less than a year later_ , your family was able to buy back the cofee shop and rebrand it? That must have taken a lot of money. That was right around the time your father brought you into the back room, wasn’t it?”

( _It’s dark and it reeks and he’s tired and he wants to go home go to bed go to sleep go to sleep go to sleep but he can’t he can’t he can’t the shop is counting on him he needs to help or they’ll starve he’ll be sold into slavery his father has shown him the web pages he knows it can happen can’t complain gotta work gotta work gotta work all day rummy tum rummy tum yay_ )

He’s shaking all over.

“Y-Yes, i-it was to cu-cu-cut costs.”

“Your friends with the landlords of the property of the original meth labs, aren’t you?”

“Ye-”

“And you were the only one to visit for pickups?”

“Yes –”

( _there’s a man with a noose around his neck watching from the back row with a crooked grin. clyde’s mother is giving him a reassuring smile, it’s okay dear, it’s okay but it’s not he was willing he did it it doesn’t matter why he still did it and it’s bad he’s bad it’s all bad there’s no fixing this there’s none of this )_

“So then, Mr Tweak, you were the only one who ever had direct access to the sourcepoint of the drug up until the time of their conviction–”

“But, I –”

“ _And furthermore_ , when that supplier was busted, another one mysteriously appeared. Neither your father or mother are able to name this new player in the game.”

_( it was stronger too so much stronger its a wonder no one oded he oded what if someone did what if nobody knew what if someone died and it was his fault he never read the obituaries someone could have had a heart attack )_

He feels like he’s about to vomit. His whole body is shaking now, breath hitching. He doesn’t have to say it, can’t make the accusation, but the story he’s outlining makes it clear to the jury. Tweek heaves and tries to stay calm.

“Let the record show that Tweek Tweak was living in the store between the change in suppliers. Both parents have testified to being afraid of their child during this trial and to other people who have testified in this courtroom.”

His vision starts to tunnel. He can distantly hear his mother shout _afraid for him_  and _that_  the judge objects to. He picks harder and harder, breaking the skin, that’s all that’s keeping him here, all that’s cementing him to reality.

“I just wanted them to stop,” is what he finally says, The lawyer stops whatever he was saying.

“I just wanted them to _stop_ ,” he says louder, looking up with wide, wet eyes. “I didn’t want to do it! I didn’t want to do drugs! I didn’t want to sell drugs! I didn’t want to be all by myself all the time, I didn’t want to work, I didn’t want to _use my body_  when we couldn’t afford it! I didn’t - I had to, they _said I had to_  or we’d lose everything! I couldn’t – I couldn’t stop, they wouldn’t let me stop, I just wanted to stop, _I just wanted it to stop_!”

There’s a sob. Tweek’s hands come up to his face. In another world the jury’s swayed again but he’s not there now. He’s somewhere else. Sobbing into his hands, pain playing out behind closed fingers.

“Now I’m _crazy_  and I’m sick and I’m _tired_  and they’re _bad and I don’t want any money I just want them to go, they need to go away, I can’t do this anymore I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’tIcan’tIcan’t_.”

Someone’s got their arms around him. It might be Kyle, it might be Gerald, it might be his mother. He can’t tell. He’s not here. He’s not anywhere. They lead him off the stand and back to the bar but he’s inconsolable, he doesn’t take the stand again. 

Kyle gets him calm enough to go home. Offers support, he appreciates it. Just for a moment he feels like he can handle it – but as they leave the courtroom the reporters are swarming, wanting a statement, wanting to know how he feels. 

It’s South Park. People will be talking about this for weeks. He wouldn’t be surprised if it hit the papers. He weathers through it, adrenaline pushing him through. Kyle gets him into his bedroom and stays with him for a while. 

( In the end the Jury convict his parents. Gerald puts a gag order on the press revealing anything about Tweek’s mental health - he’s underage, he never should’ve been roped into this circus t being with. His father will go away for a lifetime. His mother gets the promised two years.)

He wakes up to fighting. Hears every word through the thin walls

( of course eric wouldn’t consider his feelings, of course eric runs to whoever will support him most, of course eric finds the broken down heidi easier to please than the spitfire of a redhead he’d been trying to tame )

and feels disgusted. He takes his medication and uses that to drift off, but it’s not as effective. He’s getting used to it, which means he’s getting ready to go back to school, which means facing all of this in public.

He can’t turn his mind off.

Tweek thinks to text someone and ask for the distraction, but doesn’t. Clyde can’t handle it. Craig can’t handle it. No one can handle it, handle what he is, what it means, what it will do, and he sold drugs and poisoned the town to save his own skin. He shouldn’t have chewed Wendy out, he’s a hypocrite, the worst. Wendy isn’t talking to him. Or he’s not talking to her, he can’t remember. His head is foggy and the medication is wearing off, it’s well into the night.

He wants to die.

Hours pass. There’s a voicemail telling him it’s over and he did good.

His phone lights up with a message from a friend from out of town, from the days when his few precious days off were spent in the company of another warm body without sense to warn him about diseases. 

_h_ _eard u were in a bad spot. want to party? fosse’s havin a rager u should come we miss u_

He should say no.

Should roll back over and say _no._ Go back to sleep. Talk about it in group. Continue to staple himself back together and pretend the scars aren’t obvious at everyone looking.

He gets up. 

Rummages through his closet for something different, something sleek and stylish and takes half a second to look decent. His time with the Cartmans has been good for him, he’s put on weight, he looks _healthy_  and that’s enough.

He’ll just get better at hiding it.

( He’s hearing voices and seeing things, even on all these meds after all, there’s no fixing crazy. )

 _Pick me up at the playground_.

He’s out the window and into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> AND RICHARD WAS IN PRISON FOREVER THE END.
> 
> But no more seriously, I feel for Tweek. I have a list of shit that he went through and the majority of his issues at this point come from the fact that he's afraid to admit how much it affects him.
> 
> The kid has spent most of his life dealing with issues on his own and finding that opening up to people ends poorly for him. So he shoulders the worst of it alone and makes his situation wors le because he's afraid to get help.


End file.
